In Between The Spaces, images which only I can see move. They flutter and reel, undulating like those hills over there, rolling out of sight while I strain my eyes. Painful trying to catch one more glimpse. One more remembering, stretching it out. Making it linger as they whirl widdershins, finally fluttering from sight.
It’s hot now and the fan blows: white noise and hair in my face and these ah yes still, but only just barely kids are wondering, wandering about. Earbud plugged ears (antenna I call them, white, red, translucent, green squid things dangling down; disconnecting them. Establishing their own In Between. A place far from me and all I remember and hold so precious.)
How did this happen? This sudden blossoming; this frantic, hurried growing up?
When did their chins become stubbly, legs hairy, muscles strong, and here I am fading, fading. This bad back and that wonky knee and lookit that, is that a wrinkle? And still the In Between The Spaces images flow toward me; embracing me in a Technicolor and black and white and sepia tinted world all their own which I cling to even as I back away.
(Because this is The Now. Hug it tight; white knuckled. Breathe it in and never, ever forget.)
Though naturally I wonder (far too often; this I admit): If I could slip through and escape, sidling, tucking myself soft within the In Between would I? Think of it: high young voices, small hands, simpler times, and lets lay in front of the fire singing made up songs, eating licorice and later read The Phoenix and The Amulet aloud over cocoa while counting down the days till the next Harry Potter; What’d you think’s gonna happen in it?”
I wonder and wonder again. Asking myself: shouldn’t it be enough to glimpse, to taste and smell the In Between now and then, here and there? Watching it from the corner of my eye, seeing the sepia images dance. Full color images bursting into my mind, unbidden and unexpected: a remembered taste, a sound, the crinkle of an eye, his hands thrust in his pockets, and oh remember how he stood just like that when he was seven years old!
Should this be enough? This knowing it’s all still there. Surely still there; not so very far away after all.
The In Between The Spaces tumble about, lacing through the laundry loads and the math lessons; finishing the too late movie because we can and yes we’re having chicken and rice again. Reading aloud, a head on my shoulder, a hug goodnight and then good morning. Tripping over piles of shoes (how’d they get so damn big?), closing another cupboard door left open (and why they’re so hard to close I’ll never understand.)
Moving, slipping, ebbing in and out from In Between The Spaces; somehow winding around into The Now. So many images they nearly overlap. Nearly intermingle. Drawing me back and forth and back again in an eternal, delicious whirling dance of which I will never tire.